


Buzzkill

by HYPERFocused



Category: Rebel Without a Cause
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-03
Updated: 2006-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 03:06:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HYPERFocused/pseuds/HYPERFocused
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We can ride around this town, let the cops chase us around, something’s lost, but something might be found to take its place."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buzzkill

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Written May 3rd, 2006, for [](http://highwaymiles.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://highwaymiles.livejournal.com/)**highwaymiles**. I chose to use quote #230 from The Gin Blossom’s song _Hey, Jealousy_. "We can ride around this town, let the cops chase us around, something’s lost, but something might be found to take its place." Please ignore the fact that everyone in the film in question was long dead by the time the song was current.

The kid was always cold. Jim hadn’t known him for very long, but that had been a constant. He remembered the bone-deep shivers that ran through him -- Jim could feel them when Plato leaned against him -- and how at the end, Plato’s blood had bloomed warm and as red as Jim’s borrowed jacket, but it had only made the shaking worse. They’d both known Jim was never going to get that jacket back.

Plato was young, too. Younger than Jim felt at seventeen. Jim’s experiences made him feel as jaded as the desiccated drunk society whores he knew populated his parents’ parties. Plato was different. He was a real odd duck. A boy with man-feelings, in search of a lover and a family all at once. None of it would make up for the parents who’d abandoned him, each in their own way.

At the same time, it was as if Plato had been born old, or perhaps just born doomed. No one wanted him. At least no one who was supposed to matter.

Jim liked to think he and Plato had mattered to each other, though if he was honest with himself, he knew he was much more important to Plato than Plato had been to him. A nice kid, a hanger-on, a puppy -- just like the ones Plato had shot --. Hell, he was as much of a novelty to Jim as the cymbal clanging monkey he’d found on the street. A toy, or a nuisance, depending who one asked. Yeah, he’d genuinely liked the kid, it was hard not to, even in such a short time. But he’d never seen Plato as the answer to his prayers, the way Plato had seen him. It was a hell of a lot to live up to, and Jim had failed him completely.

Plato never even knew how badly Jim had let him down. That he’s given Buzz, a guy who was supposed to be his enemy, more of what Plato wanted than he ever gave Plato. But Plato couldn’t ask for what he really wanted. He could only hint around, and Jim pretended not to understand.

Maybe if Plato had acted like Buzz, and gone after what he wanted, he’d at least have gotten it before -- but no, Buzz was dead, too. No faking this time. Jim was never going to understand it.

"Why do you do these Chickie Runs?" Jim had asked Buzz.

"You’ve gotta do something." It wasn’t much of an answer. Later, when Buzz had walked him away from the gang, purportedly to check out the cars, Jim found out what else Buzz had to do.

No chaste butterfly pecks, like he’d given Judy. Buzz had just shoved Jim against the door of the car, and kissed him. He’d tasted like oatmeal and stale beer. "Shut up," he‘d said, just before he fumbled open Jim‘s jeans. Jim didn‘t stop him, but he didn’t help, either. "You don’t know anything, and you won’t say anything. You don’t even know me."

"Hey, this is your game. Your rules, not mine. I didn’t ask -- _fuck._." Jim’s words turned into a choked off moan when Buzz dropped to his knees, and he felt Buzz’s lips around his erection.

It was good. Really good, even though it was obvious Buzz didn’t quite know what he was doing, and he used his teeth a little too much. Maybe it was his first time. It wasn’t Jim’s. His parents hadn’t moved him from the last town just because he’d beat up that kid. Nobody talked about the rest of it.

Buzz spit when Jim came, kicking dirt over the mess on the ground, obscuring the spot. "We’d better get back. Your little boyfriend is probably going into hysterics by now."

"He’s not my boyfriend." Jim moved to kiss Buzz again, tasting faint traces of himself even though Buzz hadn’t swallowed. He moved to undo Buzz’s trousers, but his hand was batted away.

"Don’t you want me to do you?"

"Yeah, after I kick your ass at the chickie run. We take much longer and people are going to come looking."

Only there hadn’t been a later. Buzz hadn‘t even tried to get out of the car.. Jim could still see the flaming wreckage in his mind’s eye. He didn’t know if Buzz had meant for it to happen, if sucking him off had been a last desperate act before the end.

In his own way, Buzz had been even more stuck than Jim. At least Jim knew he’d be leaving. His mom always made them pick up stakes when things got tough, even if she never figured out that they took their problems with them. His dad followed along, just like he did with everything else.

"Nobody is sincere," Judy had complained, like she‘d believed he was the exception. He liked that. It had felt nice to kiss her, but nothing like it had with Buzz. It didn’t matter now. Buzz was gone. Plato was gone. And if there was anybody left like either of them, Jim didn’t know it.

He didn’t know if Judy would go back to her group like nothing had happened, or if she’d stand up for him when it came time to go back to school. Hell, he didn’t know if he’d be going back at all.

His dad had promised to be there for him from now on, and it sounded like he meant it. Maybe he did, but Jim doubted he would ever come through. That was okay. If he’d learned anything through all this, it was this: He could only rely on himself.

The cuts from the knife fight hardly stung at all anymore. But he could feel the bruised imprint of Buzz’s car door handle on his back, reminding him of what he had had, and so quickly lost.

He wasn’t going through anything like that again, not if he could help it. Whatever else he was, Jim Stark was no chicken. Nobody ever better say he was, if they knew what was good for them. If they did, he’d find his own damn way to prove them wrong.  



End file.
